Belonging

How long does it take to belong somewhere? A few months, a year, a lifetime, never? That question has been puzzling me for a long time now. Living in a different country, no matter where it is, or how "north-american" it might seem always comes with a new set of rules and a steep learning curve. I love it here, but I still don't always feel like I "belong." As a foreigner I am constantly second guessing myself. Tonight on the way through rush hour traffic I got frustrated because a dented silver Pajero deliberately drove around the roundabout and blocked me, while traffic was crawling on island time. I could easily have passed in between this vehicle and another to make it around the circle, but he pulled up exactly at a 90 degree angle to block my path. He then looked at me and grinned. I was angry at him. I felt like honking the horn, but then the foreigner in me realized maybe he was in the right and I was delusional thinking I could sneak through. Even when people cut me off I still somehow feel like I must have done something wrong, or that being a Canadian, there must be some set of rules I don't know about. Whether it is simple chores that are just done differently here, or processes that seem archaic, I still always feel that I am the one who "doesn't get it." I must be wrong (even though I'm certain I am right some of the time!). I work with an amazing Caymanian woman who could be my mother. Listening to her tell stories of her life is like listening to a fantastic fairy tale. Hunting scorpions in the bushes, excavating ironshore to build a house, making scrumptious dishes of plantains and breadfruit. It is all so foreign and unknown to me. Sometimes she'll tell a story and I'll have to stop her to ask for more details, and she is always astounded that I don't know how to do these things, or how they work. It is such a humbling feeling when you are outside of your comfort zone. It must be comparable to describing everyday chores like shovelling the driveway, plugging in your car, and taking your car to put on winter tires to a Caymanian. This afternoon I met a man from Saskatchewan who came to pick up his daughter from her swim lessons. He immediately took me for Canadian and started chatting. He had come to the island for a year permit and is going onto 13 years now. I wonder, does he belong? Every day is a bit more familiar than the one before and I am always eager to learn about the different ways in which people live their lives. Part of me really wants to belong here, to know how to split a coconut and make conch ceviche, but I have to wonder if a true Caymanian would still be able to see right through me... an imposter. So the question is still in the air. Is it actually possible to belong in a culture you weren't born into? I'll let you know if I find the answer.